Challenging Misconceptions
by Kisa2110
Summary: Working title- subject to later change. Harry is a Dark wizard, but does that mean that he has to serve the Dark Lord? Abuse and loneliness cause him to fight for his own morals and beliefs. Maybe he can find peace along the way. Dark!Harry, possible slash in later years. Follows from just before Harry's eleventh birthday.


**Chapter One**

Author's Note: Please bear with me if you decide to read my story. It will be a very slow go with the writing and updates of this story. It is the first time that I am attempting to use an outline for my work and I would greatly appreciate a review with any constructive criticism to help me along. I have not decided if this is going to be a slash fic yet, or not. I am guessing that it will more than likely move in that direction, though I don't have a specific pairing in mind. Perhaps later I will take a vote (if I have enough readers) and I will decide that way. That being said and out of the way. Thank you for reading my story, and remember, please review. I will be giving cookies!

xXx

The blows landed again and again, all over his chest and arms. Some on his legs, but then, too many of those and he'd have trouble walking. They couldn't have that.

A dark chuckle escaped Harry's lips, and while it caused Uncle Vernon to fly even deeper into his rage, Harry no longer cared. Harry Potter didn't have a care in the world anymore. He'd spent his entire life with regular beatings and irregular, if any, meals. He knew he was too small for his age and he knew that he should have told someone when they asked at school. He could see the concern in his teachers eyes.

'Oh well,' he thought. He'd dealt with it for the first ten and a half years of his short life, he could deal with it for another few. Just until he could escape.

A sharp blow landed on the back of his head and he had a moment of surprise before everything went black.

xXx

When Harry woke up found himself locked in the cupboard under the stairs that had served as his bedroom for the entirety of his life. That was nothing new, nor was the smell of urine rising from his clothing.

He slowly got up off of the cot that he had been lying on and stretched his tight and achy muscles. After that, he striped out of his soiled clothing and found clean and somewhat well fitting jeans from when Dudley was seven or so. After slipping those on he tried the door, unsurprisingly, it was locked form the outside.

He sat back down and contemplated the latest beating, slowly taking stock of the many injuries covering his body. There were bruises all over his torso, a few were darker, indicating where Uncle Vernon had used his feet instead of his fists. Harry could tell that he had a cracked rib on the right side and he knew he would be in pain doing whatever it was Aunt Petunia would have him doing that day. He'd fight his way through it though. He would get another beating otherwise.

He remembered the blow to his head. Gingerly he reached up and felt the back of his skull, it was somewhat sticky and his fingers came away with a vaguely rust colored stain. Okay, so he'd been bleeding, and he hadn't been out all that long if it was still wet.

At this point Aunt Petunia's nasally voice came floating through the door. "Get out here and clean up the mess you left unless you want another one."

Harry was never surprised that she knew exactly when he was awake after one of his 'lessons'. He suspected that they had placed some kind of listening device in his cupboard a long time ago to monitor his movements.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied. He grabbed a shirt, quickly making sure that it was mostly clean. He threw it on and was standing in front of the door when he heard the locks being removed so that he might come out and clean his own bodily fluids from the floor in the kitchen. Always in the kitchen, can't risk having blood on the carpets.

Harry moved as quickly as he could to the offending room. Not too much blood, he noticed. What there was probably came from the wound on his head. Those always bled more than was necessary.

Harry slowly moved to the cabinet under the sink, where he retrieved several things, including bleach and a few pinkish rags. Still slowly and under Petunia's watchful eyes, Harry scrubbed the floor until it was spotless and his hands were raw from handling the chemicals. When he finished, he moved to stand in the corner of the room to await word of the inspection.

Petunia went so far as to get a magnifying glass out a drawer this time, to make sure that he had gotten all of the blood out of the tile grout. When she was satisfied, she just curled her lip and waved her hand, telling him to leave her be. He moved as quickly as he could back to his cupboard, feeling slightly better than he had an hour ago.

When he reached his temporary haven, it was such that both Vernon and Dudley were out of the house today, He once again took stock of his injuries. He looked down the short length of his torso at the myriad of bruises to be found there, unsurprised to find that a good number of them looked to be days old already. Gingerly feeling along his rib cage and making sure not to make a sound, Harry found that the rib that had been cracked before had mostly healed and there was just the slightest bit of tenderness left to the flesh around it.

He removed his fingers from his body and sent them questing over his head. He found that the cut was scabbed over and the scabs were already beginning to fall off or disappear. That was a very good thing. In a few hours, Aunt Petunia would leave and do her usual shopping for the dinner groceries and Harry would be able to sneak up and take a shower while she was out. He would only be able to use the warm water, since there was no way that he'd get away with using the soap, but he would at least be able to get all of the blood out of his hair.

xXx

Later that afternoon, while Petunia was out and after Harry had managed to slip in a quick soak, Harry went back into his cupboard and lay on the floor next to the pile of rags that passed for his bed. Reaching underneath, he pulled out a small notebook and pen that he had filched from Dudley's spare bedroom on another such occasion. Were one to look over his shoulder when it was open one would see a list of dates and descriptions on several pages. Reading the list, Harry marveled at all of the strange things that happened to him.

There was the time that Dudley and his friends were playing their favorite game, "Harry Hunting." He had somehow ended up on the roof, and, boy, had he gotten a beating for that one. Another time, Aunt Petunia had held him down and shaved off most of his hair, leaving a horrid fringe in order to hide his scar. All of his hair was back when he woke up the next morning. Then there was the time that his teacher's hair had turned blue, he had gotten another beating for that one, but there was a question mark in his book, as he wasn't entirely convinced that that one was his fault. The teacher had been bothering another student at the time and had left Harry alone for hours at that point.

Very carefully, Harry added the latest incident to his list of odd things that he could remember happening to him. "July 27, 1991- Another beating from Uncle Vernon. Cracked rib and a head wound. Both mostly healed in 90 minutes." He looked it over and decided that nothing else needed to be added at that time, so he replaced it and climbed onto his bed. Just in time for the door to be swung open with such force that it hit the wall. Harry would be surprised if there wasn't a hole there for him patch up later.

One look at uncle Vernon's face had him forgetting all about cleaning and fixing things, though. There was murder in those beady black eyes. Murder aimed at one Harry Potter.


End file.
